


Soulmate AU

by makesureyouwashyourhands



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Superman (Comics), The Flash (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Brotherly Love, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Out of Character, Romance, Soul Bond, Soul-Searching, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The character tags are the tags I’m writing chapters for, but only because modern batman comics hate Bruce being a good parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29341161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesureyouwashyourhands/pseuds/makesureyouwashyourhands
Summary: The words your soulmate says to you when they fall in love with you are written on your body. Red words signifyEros,passionate lust and romance. Blue words signifyPhilia,intimate, authentic friendship. Pink words signifyLudus,playful, flirtatious infatuation and understanding. Green words signifyStorge,unconditional, familial, protective kinship and harmony. Yellow words signifyPragma,committed, compassionate romance. There are some in the world who have purple words that come and vanish, this has been identified asAgape, empathetic, universal love.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Barry Allen & Hal Jordan, Barry Allen & Wally West, Barry Allen/Iris West, Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Mar'i Grayson, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Duke Thomas & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	1. Bruce Wayne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: death mentions, parent death mention, child death, delinquency, implied child abuse, implied/referenced r*pe, referenced racism

Bruce had lived his whole life with phrases marked into his skin. Multiple phrases was not uncommon. It was achingly common. Soul marks were universal. Everyone had them. Everyone always would. Trying to understand the science behind it was futile. Many had tried, many had fallen short. There were a million different theories and Bruce didn’t care for any of them. They were there, so what? He had other things to worry about. That being said, Bruce couldn’t help but study them. Soul marks were always written in the handwriting and in the language they were said in. Bruce once knew someone who had pictures of ASL hand signs on their elbow. They were masterfully drawn—an indicator of their soulmate’s art skills. The different colors indicated different kinds of love. 

Bruce had green words written on his collar bone. Two phrases, side by side. These were the words of his parents when they first saw him. That was what they told him, anyway. His mother’s slanted writing was branded in emerald hues— _I made this... I made this wonderful child._ His father’s stiff print was etched out in the shade of pear skin: _Is that my boy? That’s my baby boy!_ On his back was a sage copy of Alfred’s perfect cursive, _Master Bruce, I insist you go to sleep._ When they showed him theirs, there was only incomprehensible babble on their skin, scribbles in the place of words. Bruce had no such marks, so he assumed he would never have children. He hoped he wouldn’t, if he didn’t love them the way his parents and Alfred did. Then again, maybe if he didn’t love his parents so much, looking in the mirror and seeing the color had drained from those two marks on his collar bone wouldn’t have been so painful. 

He hadn’t accounted for the fact that adoption was a thing. Then he took in Dick Grayson. He didn’t know if it was going to be permanent or not. He didn’t know how to raise a child and left most of it to Alfred. He wasn’t sure whether or not to tell the kid about Batman even. Dick knew English, but he wasn’t particularly fluent in it. Bruce figured that any soulmates the kid had would have their words written in Romanian. (He knew that was something that confused the social worker he spoke to—Dick was of the Roma people, which was separate from the country he hailed from, Romania—which was further proof of the incompetence of the foster system towards Dick as a whole.)

It was one of many nights where Dick was plagued by nightmares. Bruce was just coming back from patrol when he heard the muffled sobs and whispered pleas from inside Dick’s room. He gently shook the boy awake, and was immediately hugged and cried on. Bruce wasn’t good at this kind of thing, but he remembered a million nights where he was plagued by the same nightmares. So he held Dick in a tight hug and rocked him back and forth, whispering what little Romanian he’d picked up to try and comfort him. Eventually, Dick calmed down enough to speak clearly, after which he asked Bruce to tell him a story. Bruce did, in very simple English. He told him a story about a dog who went to the beach. The dog got its nose pinched by a crab, then it played with some seagulls and went back home. Dick asked if they could get a dog. Bruce said he’d think about it. He tucked Dick in and told him to come and find him if he had another nightmare. Dick nodded, and in a sleepy voice, replied, “Love you, B.” The exact same words Bruce had written on his right palm in bright, lime green. The childish handwriting had confused Bruce at first. Now he understood. He had a child after all.

The flamingo pink mark on his cheek was the subject of embarrassment. He always made sure to cover it with concealer, and the cowl was designed a little lower than planned to hit that spot. It was loopy, flowery calligraphy, and it was not something he liked to discuss. Pink was the source of raised eyebrows and muffled laughter among soulmarks. The universal “Oh, they did _that_ , hm?” Nevertheless, it was there. He, embarrassingly, was not able to identify who it was for until Selina said it clearly. _You’re not such a stiff after all, huh Bats?_ and kissed that exact spot.Dick’s gagging motions had ruined the moment, but those words stuck in Bruce’s head. He never guessed he’d be soulmates with a thief, let alone Catwoman, but Selina Kyle was a woman of many surprises. With how often they flirted on patrol (well, she flirted and he grunted in response), he probably should have known. If their relationship was anything, it was playful.

Bruce’s friendship with Clark Kent, aka: Superman, was one of the strangest things that had ever happened to him. It didn’t seem, with their differing personalities, that friendship would be... a _thing_ , he supposed. It happened all the same. They became very good friends. The figureheads of the Justice League, too. One day, out of nowhere, Clark said, “You know, you’re the first friend I’ve had that’s known both sides of me.” When Bruce had first seen those words (REALLY seen them), etched messily in sky blue on his left wrist, he’d assumed that soulmate was a Gemini or something along those lines (he was thirteen). He was very glad this wasn’t the case. Secret identity knowledge was better.

Jason Todd was an unexpected but not unwelcome addition to the Wayne household. Jason had needed help, and Bruce would be lying if he said his parental instincts didn’t start screaming the minute he looked at the boy. Dirty clothes with holes in them, half ripped-up shoes, and a tiny, tiny frame. Jason wasn’t a bad kid by any means, he learned, just scared and lost for options. Bruce knew he was doing the right thing when he took him in, though he was still unsure of how exactly to approach the situation. Jason was distrustful and brash, especially for the first few weeks. He didn’t believe he was good. But slowly, Jason came around. They were sitting at dinner, one day, and Bruce asked Jason if he wanted Bruce to read the book they’d assigned for English class with him. Jason stared at him, mouth wide open. “You... you actually wanna read with me?” he said. Bruce froze too. Those words were marked across his shoulder blade in bright chartreuse. The handwriting was big, but nicer and squeezed close together. Jason wrote often, he liked to write down his thoughts about the books he read.

Only a few years later, Bruce learned the pain of loosing a child. He learned two years after that that those marks did not regain their color if that soulmate was resurrected somehow.

His third child was no surprise. He had his through this enough to expect it at some point and it was exactly the kind of question Tim would ask. Tim, who was smart enough to discover Batman and Robin’s identities at the age of nine. Tim, who was the best detective Bruce had ever met. Tim, who was pretty damn straightforward when he thought he was right. _B, are we familial soulmates?_ was half-illegible on Bruce’s knee, the color of pine needles. What a brilliant boy he’d had the pleasure to help raise!

Cass was a surprise. Cass was not something he had anticipated or expected. Especially since he couldn’t figure out how to communicate with her for a long time. She understood his words, but she had no way of responding. Even when she started to learn how to speak, she mostly stuck to handsigns. Her voice was underutilized and strange to her own ears. That being said, she still managed to say “You are not bad.” on a day when he felt like the most wicked being of their timeline. It was a lovely thing to have in his other palm, and the mint color went well with Cass’ very strict, very uniform handwriting. The result of slowly copying letters until she got them near identical to the font of the print.

Damian... Damian was and wasn’t a shock. Bruce didn’t know Damian existed. The thought of what Talia had done to him made him nauseous, but that wasn’t Damian’s fault. However, once he knew of Damian, he could guess who the mark on the left side of his chest belonged to. The olive green, narrow and small handwriting read, _You have been greater than adequate, Father_ and only Damian would say something so formal. When he did, Bruce pulled him into a tight hug and told him he was glad.

By the time Bruce met Duke, he just knew. He looked at that little boy, the founder of We Are Robin, that kid who just wanted to help, and he knew. He tried not to make it true, because Duke had a family already and all of Bruce’s other children had lost theirs before becoming his, but he failed. Duke Thomas was adopted by the Waynes and became Gotham’s daytime protector. It happened over comms, of all things. “Bruce! Bruce, come look at the sunrise! We usually get up too late to see it!” he shouted, and Bruce obliged. The shamrock scrawl on his ankle looked brighter in the natural light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know Bruce has more friends and lovers and people he mentors, but soulmates aren’t *all* the people you have a good relationship with. They’re *special*. Parent/child soul bonds between blood family are a sure sign of success, but not having one doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad parent necessarily. You can have friends and lovers that aren’t your soulmate and it’s not a doomed case. I see Babs and Steph and Jim Gordon and the rest of JL as important to Bruce, but I feel like these relationships in particular are the closest.
> 
> Also just wanted to say that my overall plans for this fic mainly involve the Batfam, but other people will not only be featured, but they will cut in between Batfam chapters.


	2. Dick Grayson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: death mentions, parent death mention, child death mention, stabbing mention, bleeding out mention, implied r*pe, implied child abuse

Dick was obsessed with the idea of soulmates the minute he learned about them. People that were destined to love you, and people you were destined to love in return. Everyone had someone; it was impossible to be truly alone. Dick loved people, so that seemed really nice to him. It also seemed very romantic to him, though his parents made sure he knew most soulmates were platonic or familial. Their own words were the same color: seafoam green, though their handwriting differed wildly. His father preferred to write in cursive, but his mother liked print better. His father’s words, _Vă promitem că vă iubim, iubitule_ went wonderfully with his mother’s, _O sa te iubum_ _totdeauna_ across his heart. They had each other’s words written in the color of pineapples, his mother’s written over his father’s stomach, and his father’s written on his mother’s forehead. He sobbed when he saw the words on his mother’s forehead had turned grey. Somehow, it was worse than the blood. He was numb by the time he saw the words over his heart were an inky black. 

He had more green soulmarks. Marks that hadn’t lost their color. He hated them. Nothing would ever replace his parents. Nothing could make what happened to them bearable. He tried to cut them out of his skin, once, but he was living at the manor by that point and Alfred stopped him. His eyes widened when he heard what Alfred said afterwards, though his English was poor, he understood every word. _You have the right to love other people, Master Dick, and they have the right to love you._ Those words were in deep, forest green on Dick’s knee. He hadn’t gotten to them yet by the time Alfred found him. The rest of the words were unharmed, moving on top of the scars, which healed anyways. Like the mark on his other knee. This was in fern green. The handwriting formal and boring, unlike Alfred’s cursive. Dick had been sulking on the chandelier, bored and recovering from a vivid nightmare. The chandelier was a great place to think, in his opinion, but Bruce did not agree. “GOD, DICK, GET DOWN FROM THERE!” Dick had laughed and jumped directly into Bruce’s arms, though he never explained why he was so happy until weeks later. 

Babs’ words were in rose red, and her words were not the only ones like this. That made Dick a little nervous. _I love you, you moron of an acrobat,_ was a lovely phrase to exhibit under his right ab, but it didn’t stop them from breaking up. He was worried he was the one person on earth who managed to ruin their soul bond, but he marveled as the red ink changed its hue to a soft lapis. The shape of the letters changed to a simple phrase, _Did you see it?_ He did, he saw the obvious change, and Babs’ mark had changed as well. It was rare, but when the nature of your relationship to your soulmate changed, the soul mark changed too. This was, as Dick researched, the most common with red letters. After all, passion, lust, and romance were easily morphed. This still didn’t happen to most red soul marks, but it was nice to know anyway. When he met Kori, he wasn’t afraid anymore. The crimson, _Dick, you wonderful thing!_ On his left hip changed into a blush-colored _Dick, the house is on fire._

That worried him a little bit. Luckily it was fine.

Dick didn’t discover his bond with Jason until a month before it all went wrong. He’d slowly warmed up to the idea of Jason, mainly because the whole situation wasn’t actually Jason’s fault. It was Bruce’s. Jason was a neat kid. He was cool. Dick had forgotten kids could be cool, or fun to be around. He shouldn’t have, but he did. Jason loved to read and Jason loved to trash talk and Jason adored the stupid brotherly bonding activities Dick came up with. It was movie night, and Jason said, “Wow, you make the best popcorn.” Dick had always thought the person who said that one, the one the color of green apples in big, tight handwriting on his shoulder blade. Dick showed Jason immediately. Jason threw popcorn at him in response.

He had taken off his shirt to go to bed when Kori gasped in horror, pointing at the words on Dick’s back as the green faded into an off-white. The color didn’t return when Jason did, but Dick was relieved Jason was back all the same.

The thing Dick was really curious about was the sunflower-yellow mess running down the ring finger of his right hand. Commitment was a big factor in yellow marks, and he wondered who on earth it would be. He found out on a mission. A mission with someone he had previously considered his best friend. Wally had just been stabbed by some equally speedy villain, and Dick was panicking because his best friend was bleeding out and dying and he’d wanted to try asking him out and no matter what happened he loved him and he screamed something he didn’t even remember at Wally. Wally... burst out laughing in response. “It’s you!” he gasped, and he was crying because he definitely thought he was dying, “I can’t believe it’s you! I’m so lucky!” Dick wasn’t sure if he would consider bleeding out to be lucky, but he remembered that commitment part and he hoped that was a sign Wally would survive. He did.

Dick had already kind of been friends with their neighbor, Tim Drake, when he revealed he knew the Bat’s identity and by extension, Dick’s. Well, actually it was the other way around. He learned Dick’s identity first. The kid had a killer memory, since he was apparently two on that fateful day at the circus. It was only Tim’s ninth mission as Robin, and Dick had still managed to be the one to get kidnapped by the Riddler. Luckily, it was the _Riddler_. Tim answered his riddles and Dick got to go home. They were walking back around to the upper crust, and Tim said, “I like doing this with you, it’s less pressure.” Those words, written in half unreadable handwriting the color of the Riddler’s suit, were hidden on the back of his calf, but Dick showed him as soon as they got home. Tim, in turn, showed his own soul mark, with a phrase of Dick’s. 

Damian wasn’t a surprise in any sense to Dick. Bruce made out with too many rogues for a fling to not go all the way. (Though, there was something Bruce wasn’t telling him. Something he refused to mention about the circumstances of Damian’s conception.) Dick had not at all been expecting his dad to _die_ (well, not die, and _dammit_ he should’ve listened to Tim the first time). Dick had not been expecting to have to be Batman, or for Damian to be his Robin and not Bruce’s or some invention of Damian’s own. That was what happened, however, and Damian kicked and screamed the whole way through. Damian didn’t understand that murder was bad, Damian didn’t understand that he wasn’t expected to be perfect; Damian didn’t understand that a cow was not a normal pet. They were in the middle of a fight and Damian said _Grayson, we must retreat, you’re injured!_ Dick hadn’t even noticed until then. Those basil letters were written in the neatest handwriting known to man. Dick hadn’t expected a ten-year-old to say them. But he did, and when Dick showed him Damian asked what those words meant. Apparently, the League didn’t care for soul bonds. Dick explained in their stead.

When Mari was born, his last remaining soul mark started to make a lot more sense. He’d always wondered why just... scribbles. Why there was a grass-colored zig-zag of lines just under his parent’s faded words. It made sense the minute he handed the baby a crayon. Happy babbles and scribbles were Mari’s only form of communication other than crying. He’d take them any day. Mari was the most precious thing in his life, and those scribbles kept him going when things looked impossible. 


	3. Barry Allen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: parent death mention (wow I’m putting that a lot), false accusation mention, implied (consensual) sexual situations, mentioned alcoholism, mentioned intervention, referenced/implied abuse, thinking you’re about to die

Barry thought soulmates were dumb as a kid. He had _no choice_ but to meet them? He had to _wait_ to do so? How stupid! How boring! Neither of his parents were his soulmates, but they loved him to the ends of the earth. His mother would cry sometimes, thinking that she didn’t love him enough because those stupid green letters weren’t there. That made him hate the idea even more. To this day, he didn’t exactly love the existence of destiny. The fact that there were certain things he simply could not change no matter how much he wanted to. If destiny wasn’t in the way, he could save his mother’s life, Wally from his father, maybe Bruce from loosing his parents. He could better everyone’s lives by a million percent if “keystone events” and _destiny_ would vanish. That being said, he did have a fondness for soulmates. Now that he’d met a few, he was much vozier with the idea. The one thing destiny got right, if he did say so himself.

The red letters on his right biscep were done in fast, sort of neat print. Someone who had trained themselves to write neatly and fast instead of just fast. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, but he was still bitter at that point. His mother died thinking she didn’t love him enough, and his father was in prison because if he didn’t have soul marks for his wife or child, he _must_ have done it! He resolved to never meet that person. Ever.

He met Iris West as the Flash, and she was smart and respectful and didn’t ask anything inappropriate or insensitive. She was a far cry from most of the reporters he met. He saw her again as Barry Allen, a simple run-in at the grocery store. He got her number, and she got his. They went out for ice cream and to the zoo the next day, because what was an adult if not a large, stressed child? Iris was fun to be around, and Barry could let his guard down with her. He met her family, he met her friends, and they all knew how brilliant she was. Even her five-year-old nephew warned him not to hurt her. He would never! They went, er, hotter and heavier than with any other person he’d dated as well. He told her about the Flash. He even had thoughts about popping _the question,_ but he shot them down. She had a far more romantic idea of soulmates than he did. She would definitely want to wait for hers. 

They were lying in bed. Iris was half asleep, and Barry was trying not to be because work sucked. She kept telling him to put down the laptop, but a double homicide didn’t solve itself. He was using his super speed a little, but she knew so it didn’t matter. She yawned, laid her head on his chest, and said, “Barry, it’s me or the laptop.” And it was so stupid. It was a stupid phrase to have marked in the color of candy on your biscep, and he’d half forgotten it. Iris had not. She scrambled up into a kneeling position and started laughing. “Finally!” she cackled, “I thought we’d _never_ get there!” Barry had said her words four months ago. It clicked, then, that he wasn’t in a prison. He was lying in bed with a woman he had fallen in love with, and he didn’t care what destiny had to say about it or not. He reached over and kissed her, his laptop long forgotten. His boss has a fit. He didn’t care.

On their wedding night, Barry got undressed to see those red letters had turned gold.

Barry had a pretty embarrassing mark on his forehead. Blue, thankfully, as opposed to red or pink, but it still got him teased mercilessly. He was thankfully for the super speed enabling him to get ready fast, because now putting on concealer didn’t make him late for work every morning. The baby blue words stuck out in the mirror, like whoever was destined to say them was personally trying to embarrass him. 

That was probably accurate.

Barry met Hal the day he joined the Justice League, and the guy was alright. Nothing to write home about, not when he was twenty-one and Batman and Superman and Wonderwoman were all there. Not when the world’s biggest and most famous heroes were right there and actually wanted to meet _him_. Green Lantern, a man who was barely on the planet half the time, didn’t seem like a big deal then. 

He was about to be.

He wasn’t sure how it started, but they began hanging out. An ice cream parlor here, a museum trip there, and eventually the Green Lantern was who the Flash called for backup, and vice versa. It just happened, and no one questioned it. 

Then, of course, everything went terribly wrong. Darkseid’s fault. Barry didn’t remember most of it. A lot of fire, a lot of screaming, a lot of _ouch_ . He remembered being in a significant amount of pain, _that_ was for sure. Pain and fire. An average fight with Darkseid. Well, it was average now, but this was when Darkseid first came to Earth. They didn’t know they’d fight him a million times. They didn’t know they’d get more powerful, they didn’t have half as many heroes behind them. Darkseid seemed like the end of the world. The ultimate threat. Barry, at the time, had been sure he’d lost against the ultimate threat, and that if someone didn’t do something soon, the world would die.

GL thought the same, considering he was lying right next to him. 

“So… we’re probably gonna die,” he said.

“Yep.”

“And if that’s the case, there’s something important I need to tell you,” GL said.

“What?”

“My, uh, my name is Hal Jordon,” Hal confessed. “We might die, and you’re my buddy, so I thought you deserved to know.”

Barry, somewhere in the back of his mind, knew those words were in some weirdly neat handwriting on his forehead. He didn’t spiral into an epiphany and proclaim this fact, because when he focused too hard it made his body hurt more. He didn’t address it until… he was sure it was three weeks after the fight. They had a good laugh about it, at least.

When Barry looked at the green letters on his foot, he was a little confused. Why the foot? It didn’t make any sense to him. The words were written in sloppy, large handwriting that was spaced awkwardly. Childish. Barry didn’t know what to make of it, so he elected to ignore it until he had to deal with it. Wally was a sweet kid. He bounced around and showed Barry drawings and roped him into playing pretend. His parents were worried about it. They always said that Wally ought to focus on more immediate things, his grades (which were fine), his friends (which he did not have many of), or his future (he was nine). They put a lot of pressure on him, for someone so small. No wonder he loved it when Iris came over. Iris let him be a kid. Barry tried to do the same. Even better, the kid loved the Flash. He was his favorite superhero. Finally, someone with _taste_. (Iris’ was, for some reason, _Green Lantern_. Green Lantern! It was John’s GL, so respectable, but still!)

He was babysitting at the time. Wally was on his shoulders and talking about... dinosaurs, if Barry remembered correctly. Just then, Barry got a text. _Do not bring Wally home. We’re having an intervention._ Barry didn’t need to guess who for. Rudolph West had been drinking more and more often. Gotten more aggressive as well. Barry’d started making a habit of checking Wally over when he visited, just to make sure nothing was wrong. Wally barely had a scratch on him, and Barry didn’t think Rudy would hurt his son, but he’d also seem too much not to be cautious. He texted back, asking if they wanted him to be there in case things went wrong. Mary said no, she and Iris could handle it. They were worried his presence would anger Rudy. Barry didn’t understand why, but he would trust their judgement for now. He put Wally down and told him he would be staying at his house. He didn’t explain why. No need to shove that onto the poor kid. They ended up watching a movie. Neat the end, Wally started to get sleepy. Just before he fell asleep, his nephew said, “Uncle Barry... you’re even cooler than the Flash.”

Barry paused for a moment, and checked his foot to see if he was right. He was. There were those words, in what he really should’ve recognized as Wally’s handwriting, scribbled across his foot. He smiled and ruffled the kid’s hair. A few months later, when Wally gained his own super speed, the placement of that particular soul mark made a lot more sense.

He had two scribbles, one in clover green, the other the color of of a Mountain Dew can, under his left shoulder blade. He knew by now what that meant, two kids. Two babies, probably his own. They still managed to find a way to surprise him. They surprised him by coming at the same time. He’d been overjoyed to hear Iris was pregnant, but he thought he’d meet his kids one at a time. Don and Dawn Allen came into the world five minutes and four seconds apart. Dawn came out first, screaming her lungs out and grabbing at nothing. Don followed in a similar fashion, kicking his feet and breathing his first breaths. Barry held them tight in his arms, a father. A _father_. He was so happy! He had practice, and he knew he would do right by these two little rascals. His children. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not as fluent in Flash comics as I am Batman so I know I probably missed some important people to Barry but I did my BEST
> 
> I also am fucking with canon a teensy-weensy bit. Not that it matters with how screwed up the DC timelines are


End file.
